Mount Hope: An Amish tale of Jane Austen's Mansfield Park (The Amish Classics Book 5)

by Sarah Price

  “Kum vonct nah!” she called once she knew that she had their attention.

  Elijah and Fanny exchanged a look. Ever since she had moved there, Naomi rarely invited anyone to her house, especially the Bontrager children. When the children were younger, she had complained that they tracked in too much dirt, a complaint she continued even now that they were adults and more mindful of their manners. Fanny suspected it was because her aunt didn’t like cleaning. Period. But, as usual, Fanny never expressed that opinion, even when Miriam and Julia joked about Naomi’s refusal to host guests.

  Once Elijah and Fanny entered the kitchen, after repeatedly wiping their feet on the doormat, they were surprised to see the entire Bontrager family gathered there.

  “Has something happened?” Elijah asked, concerned by the unexpected look of a family meeting. He directed the question pointedly to his father.

  “Nee, Elijah,” Timothy said, quick to reassure him. “But I have news. News that I wanted to discuss with everyone.”

  Fanny couldn’t help but wonder why they were called to Naomi’s house when their own kitchen was much better suited to accommodate everyone. Once again, she kept her thoughts to herself.

  “I must leave for a while,” he said. With his hands behind his back and his head held high, Fanny suspected that whatever was taking Timothy away from the farm was certainly not a frivolous reason.

  Elijah stepped forward, standing before his father. “Something has happened,” he insisted.

  This time, Naomi responded. “Your daed needs to go to Pinecraft, Elijah.”

  For a long moment, no one spoke. Pinecraft, Florida, was where Timothy’s father lived with his second wife. Fanny had never met Timothy’s father or stepmother, but like a dutiful ward, each year she had signed every birthday, Father’s Day, Mother’s Day, and Christmas card that the Bontragers sent to them.

  Timothy cleared his throat. “There has been . . . ” He hesitated. “ . . . an accident with your grossdawdi.”

  “An accident?” Julia raised her hand to her chest, covering her heart. While overly dramatic, the gesture was not contrived and Miriam put her arm around her younger sister.

  Timothy leveled his gaze at his two daughters. “Grossdawdi fell and broke his hip.”

  Fanny noticed that Martha barely reacted, obviously privy to this information prior to the discussion. Because she stood behind Elijah and Thomas, Fanny saw that both of them lowered their heads at the announcement. No one asked the one question that was lingering, unspoken, in the air.

  “Is it serious then?” Fanny asked, no longer able to contain herself.

  Naomi frowned at her. “Ach, Fanny! Such a question!”

  Timothy, however, responded with a curt “Serious enough to take me to Florida.”

  Martha spoke in a more even and reasonable tone. “Fanny, dear, nothing for you to fret over, I’m sure.”

  Ignoring his wife and sister-in-law, Timothy turned his attention to both of his sons. “There is no telling how long I shall be gone. Thomas shall accompany me. And I am expecting you,” he said, leveling his gaze directly at Elijah, “to manage the farm.”

  “I will, Daed,” Elijah replied, casting his gaze downward in humility.

  If anyone was surprised by Timothy’s announcement, no one made a display of it. Fanny’s eyes flickered in the direction of her eldest cousin—for, even if only related by marriage, she thought of him in those terms. Thomas seemed to stand a bit taller and his eyes narrowed, just enough to indicate that, while not surprised, he was irritated with his father’s announcement. Despite the wild streak that he still harbored, Thomas knew better than to challenge Timothy’s words.

  Thomas’s absence would not make much difference for Elijah. The oldest Bontrager son tended to wander away and sometimes not come home until the wee hours of the morning. He ran with a group of friends that caused a great deal of angst to his father. Fanny suspected Thomas was to go along so that Timothy could try to convince him to settle down into a calmer, more peaceful way of life, and to finally join the church as Elijah was that autumn.

  Thomas’s departure meant that Elijah was responsible for completing both his and his brother’s chores. Timothy couldn’t leave Martha in charge, her inability to exert herself far too apparent, although Fanny wasn’t certain if the reason for that was from her ongoing summer cold or from years of living in Timothy’s overbearing presence.

  “And see to it the morning and evening prayers are conducted,” Timothy added, a stern expression upon his face, “as well as ensuring everyone attends worship service.”

  Fanny wondered why such a request needed to be voiced. After all, of the four children, Elijah had always been the most righteous and studious of Scripture. Clearly, with Timothy leaving and Thomas accompanying him, Elijah was the only man left to manage more than just the physical labor; he should preside over the fulfillment of doctrinal duties too.

  However, when Fanny saw the humble slump of Elijah’s shoulders, she realized that the fact that Timothy made a point of voicing the appointment was an unspoken—and rare—compliment to his son.

  If so, no one could be happier than Fanny. The compliment was well deserved.

  She loved listening to Elijah read the Bible at night, his voice deep and smooth, unlike Bishop Yoder, who spoke in a high-pitched monotonous tone. Besides, even if Thomas had remained at home, his father surely would not have bequeathed these responsibilities to him. Thomas hadn’t attended a worship service in almost two months and had made no indication of wanting to take his kneeling vow anytime soon. It was a family disappointment that no one spoke about, but the scowl on Timothy’s face every other Sunday said more than words ever could express.

  Timothy took a deep breath, pacing before the children and reaching up to tug at his long, wiry, white beard. “Naomi has volunteered to oversee the farm, ensuring that everything runs smoothly,” he said, “and also to help your maem.”

  The slightest smile, triumphant in nature, crossed Naomi’s lips, while Martha expressed no visible reaction—whether favorable or unfavorable. Instead, she stood there, her hands clasped before her stout waistline and her eyes gazing out the window behind her husband’s shoulder. The forced smile on her face had neither grown nor shrunk with any of Timothy’s words. To Fanny, her aunt looked distracted and uninterested in the conversation.

  “As I said, I have no idea how long I shall be gone,” Timothy repeated. “I expect everyone to do their part to help Elijah and obey Naomi’s requests. During my absence, her word is as good as mine.”

  Now Fanny understood the reason behind calling the meeting in Naomi’s house. With Timothy leaving to tend to his father, he wanted to establish the line of authority during his absence.

  Ever since Naomi’s husband passed away five years ago, she had taken on a new role within the household. The bishop’s unexpected death—at the dinner table no less—had created an interesting shift in the family dynamics. Unlike most women, Naomi used her husband’s death in much the same way as she had used his life: to achieve her own superiority over others.

  Immediately after his death and burial, Naomi sold their little house and moved into the grossdawdihaus on the Bontragers’ farm. She refused to transform into a quiet widow, accepting visitors on Saturday and Sunday evenings from the comfort of her rocking chair and spending the rest of her time knitting blankets to sell to tourists. Instead, she continued to rule over the household. And while Naomi could no longer use her now-deceased husband as the backup for her decisions, she certainly referred to his former role within the church to substantiate her authority.

  Fanny wasn’t certain which was worse.

  And, for some unknown reason, Timothy tended to defer to Naomi’s opinions more than anyone else’s. Naomi’s jurisdiction was not just limited to the house, either. She often shared her opinion with Timothy over the basket-weaving business as well as the crop rotation in the fields.

  The only lesson that Fanny took away from
this shift in household power was that Naomi’s power consisted more in the overbearing conviction of her tone than in the wisdom of her actual opinions.

  “You will, most likely, have to help with the autumn harvest,” he said, leveling a stern look at his two daughters.

  “The harvest? You’ll be gone that long? But what about my wedding?” Miriam stared first at her father and then her mother. If Elijah hadn’t forewarned her, Fanny would have been more startled. Clearly Jeb and Miriam had indeed finalized their plans to wed in November. Normally such plans were not openly discussed until closer to the actual wedding.

  Timothy held up his hand, an indication that she had no need to worry. “Please, Miriam. Harvest is well before wedding season. I’m certain there will be no delays with your marriage to Jeb.”

  Fanny glanced at Timothy too aware of the irritation in his voice. With Miriam, it was always about herself. Even now, with her grandfather injured in Florida, Miriam spoke and thought of one thing and one thing only: Miriam.

  “Julia,” Timothy said, pausing before her. She looked up, her large chocolate brown eyes similar to Miriam’s but betraying less selfishness. Timothy made a noise deep in his throat as if clearing it. “Your aendi will approve any social engagements for you,” he said. Fanny glanced at Martha, who bore no reaction to this responsibility being assigned to her older sister, despite Julia being her own daughter. Instead, she turned her head and coughed into her hand.

  Julia bent her head in acknowledgment of her father’s instruction.

  “As for Fanny . . . ” Timothy paused. “Ach, where is she now?”

  “Here,” she said in a small voice, stepping forward so that she was not so hidden from his line of sight.

  He glanced over the top of his glasses at her as if surprised to see her standing there at all. “Ja, there you are indeed, Fanny.” Timothy seemed to study her through narrowed eyes as if noticing her for the first time since she had entered the room.

  Fanny brightened at being addressed at all.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Your aendi Martha’s weak constitution requires you to stay with her.” He cleared his throat and tugged at his beard. “No market, no visiting. I don’t want her alone, is that understood?”

  Fanny couldn’t help but look over at Martha. She had noticed Martha was more lethargic than usual, but she wasn’t certain what Timothy meant by a weak constitution. Was Martha ill? Had something happened that no one had shared with her? The color drained from Fanny’s cheeks. If anything happened to Martha, she would only have Elijah to protect her from Naomi’s sharp tongue and criticism. Surely with Miriam to wed in November, Julia would soon follow. And with Elijah committed to taking his kneeling vow in early October, in all likelihood he would marry as well, although Fanny did not know whether he was currently courting anyone.

  “I understand,” she replied softly.

  Timothy started to walk away but quickly changed his mind. “Ach, I almost forgot. Your bruder. William, ja?”

  At the mention of her brother, Fanny immediately raised her head and stared at Timothy. While she wrote to her brother every week, she had not seen him, or any member of her immediate family, since her departure from Colorado eight years ago. “My bruder?” she asked, her voice full of eagerness. She longed to hear anything about her brother since his letters came less frequently and certainly not as regularly as she sent hers.

  “I understand he is to visit the area and will stop by in a few weeks. Should I not be here, you have my permission to welcome him at our farm. I daresay that I had hoped he would see his sister much changed after so many years of righteous living in our household,” he went on, his eyes giving her one last critical study, “but I’m afraid he will not.”

  The excitement faded from Fanny’s face and she felt her shoulders sag under the weight of Timothy’s words. If he noticed the crestfallen expression that covered her face, he gave no indication. She blinked her eyes rapidly, feeling the all-too-familiar sting of reproach from the closest thing she had to a father. She’d save the crying for later when she would have the luxury of retreating to the privacy of her own, small bedroom.

  From the corner of her eye, she noticed that Elijah shifted his weight from one foot to another as if he felt uncomfortable with his father’s words. While Elijah often jumped to Fanny’s defense when faced with injustices inflicted by his sisters, he had never stood up to his father. Fanny did not think less of him for that; in fact, she would have thought less of him if he did, since honoring thy father and mother was one of God’s commandments.

  She did not profess to understand why Timothy remained so critical of her. Instead, she bottled up her emotions and sought wisdom in the one book that held all the answers: the Bible.

  While she never could find out what she had done—or continued to do—that offended him so, the prospect of a respite from his overbearing presence was enough to help her shake off the sting of his comments.

  Chapter 2

  THE RAIN ALWAYS made Fanny feel invisible. On days when the sky was gray and little puddles formed in the driveway, no one lingered outside. Instead all of the Bontrager women would hurry through their outdoor chores—or in the case of Miriam, complain of aches to avoid them—so that they could stay inside the warm kitchen. On these days no one paid any attention to Fanny, more content talking with each other, especially when Naomi joined them, complaining that the noise of rain hitting against the windows gave her a headache.

  With the main room so full of people, Fanny could sit in the wooden rocking chair on the sitting porch. A nearby bookshelf, filled with devotionals and other Timothy-approved reading material, blocked Fanny from the kitchen. As she was hidden in plain sight, no one thought to look for her, at least not while they hovered around the kitchen table or sat near the kerosene heater while they crocheted blankets or worked on making baskets.

  Fanny preferred to make baskets. There was something about the gentle weaving of the willow branches that relaxed her. She enjoyed the feeling of the sticks as she wove them around the spokes, the slightly concave base forming before she focused on weaving the sides. Her focus on basket making did not go unnoticed by the others, and rather than complain, the other young women often tried to persuade her to help them make their quota.

  “Looks like it might be clearing up,” Martha said as she peered out the window. “How fortunate!”

  Naomi followed her sister’s gaze. “Hadn’t read that it was going to break! Those weather people! They don’t know a forecast from a rotten tomato!” She pressed her lips together, making a firm line on her face. For a few seconds, she focused on her crocheting, her fingers moving so quickly that even Fanny couldn’t figure out what pattern Naomi was making. “If that sun comes out,” Naomi said, not even looking up, “you best be heading over to the Yoders.”

  The statement, though spoken to no one by name, was clearly directed at Fanny.

  One of the local Amish stores carried the baskets made by the Bontragers, especially the small baskets that Fanny often made. Apparently the tourists purchased them for holding their pens or loose mail, or so Fanny was told by Barbara Yoder, the elderly woman who ran the store.

  So once a week Fanny would find time to go into town, a box filled with the baskets resting in the rusty basket on the front of her bicycle. Even though town was three miles away, some of it requiring her to go both up and down hills, the ride was never long enough. An occasional buggy would pass by, the driver lifting his or her hand to acknowledge Fanny. She would return the gesture with a solemn nod of her head, unless she knew the person, in which case she might smile.

  For Fanny, the long journey to town was a welcomed break.

  “Wait until the rain stops, Fanny,” Martha added, glancing up from her work and giving her a soft smile. “No need for you to get sick.”

  “No danger of that,” Fanny responded. “But I’ll wait until there is a break in the weather.”

  “Mayhaps you could stop at th
e store, then,” Martha added. “I could use some more sugar and tea.”

  “Honey,” Naomi added. “We’re all out of honey. And with your cough, Martha, you can never have enough honey.” She turned toward Fanny. “And make sure it’s local and not one of those Englische brands! Lord knows what they put in their honey.”

  Fanny nodded but did not reply. Naomi hadn’t needed to remind her about the family’s policy regarding food: fresh, local, and organic. It was a rule that had been drilled into Fanny’s head each and every time she was sent to the store.

  By the time the clouds began to break up and a hint of sun started to peek through, it was almost two in the afternoon. Fanny grabbed the rusty bicycle from the shed, noticing that the buggy was already gone. She hadn’t heard Elijah was going somewhere today; he usually mentioned it at breakfast or, at least, the noon meal. As she pedaled down the short driveway, she wondered where he might have gone on a Wednesday afternoon.

  Only a week had passed since Timothy and Thomas had left for Florida. No letters had arrived yet, although Fanny suspected that neither her uncle nor his eldest son were much in the way of letter writers. With Timothy gone from the farm, Fanny had a newfound freedom, despite his forbidding her to leave Martha’s side if no one else was around. His demand for his wife to have constant companionship was not an onerous one. Out of the entire Bontrager family, Martha was the kindest, second only to Elijah.

  During the past few months, when an early summer allergy had turned into a lingering sinus infection, Martha had come to depend on Fanny. Fanny didn’t resent the constant neediness of her aunt. If nothing else, Martha vocalized her appreciation for the things Fanny did.

  “Ach, Fanny Price!”

  No sooner had Fanny leaned her bicycle against the side of the Yoders’ store than Addie called out to her from behind the front counter. Through the open doorway Fanny could see the older woman waving at her.